


Power Play

by kimpernickel



Category: Over the Garden Wall (Cartoon)
Genre: Drabble, F/M, Fluff, One Shot, Prompt Fic, au-ish
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-23
Updated: 2015-06-23
Packaged: 2018-04-05 18:07:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,145
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4189764
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kimpernickel/pseuds/kimpernickel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What if growth spurts also introduced the talent of ridicule and owning a sense of humor?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Power Play

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Pixiestick_cc](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pixiestick_cc/gifts).



> Pixiestick_cc requested I write a drabble based on [this](http://kimpernickelanddime.tumblr.com/post/121717481587/shipping-meme-17-21-31) headcanon of mine. I decided to take a break in between writing chapters for [_Across, Over, and Yonder_](http://archiveofourown.org/works/3734191/chapters/8276668), and this fluffy oneshot was a good choice. The title and one particular moment are both inspired from the 2x01 episode of the TV show _Cheers._

Beatrice kept quiet when she first noticed it. She didn’t want to bring it up because Wirt was bound to turn the tables and start making fun of _her_. She couldn’t let him have that. Teasing and light mockery had always been her department, her forte. Wirt’s jokes were terrible. But now, he had leverage. Or rather, extra inches. What if growth spurts also introduced the talent of ridicule and owning a sense of humor?

When she first noticed how Wirt was the same height as her, she consciously refrained from patting him on the head whenever she had to assert her control. She stopped with the gesture, along with the occasional jabs at his height. Gone were the days of “how’s the weather down there?” and “Want me to provide you with some shade?” Beatrice could still poke fun of other aspects of Wirt’s entire existence, like his poetry, his nerdy interests, even his spindly arms and dainty hands. He knew her jokes were never serious, and they were her means of showing affection, but they also assured her of her authority in their relationship. For months, he let her have it.

But his height wouldn’t.

Beatrice had just gotten used to their shared height when he skyrocketed another five inches in almost no time at all. Was he _eating_ something that made him grow taller? Did he sneak over to her side of the Garden Wall and secretly purchase some magical beans to eat? Now, _Wirt_ could pat _her_ head patronizingly. He could recycle all her old jokes, but at _her_ expense.

“This is unfair,” she groaned one afternoon, unable to hold back her frustration any longer.

“What is?” Wirt looked down at her.

Beatrice furled her brow, and reached her hand up to the top of his head. “ _This_.”

Wirt laughed and gingerly pushed her hand away. “Finally! You haven’t mentioned my height for so long, I thought you were just going to pretend I didn’t have a growth spurt in the past few months.”

She crossed her arms in front of her chest and turned to the side in obduracy. “Unfair.”

“Are you really claiming biology, puberty, and the laws of nature to be _unfair_?”

“Yes,” she responded bluntly, positioning herself so she was facing him once again. “ _I’m_ the dominant one. _I_ should be the tall one. It’s how I intimidate you.”

“Oh, like this?” Wirt stood tall and stepped closer to Beatrice, his chin jutting out and his chest puffed forwards. Beatrice’s heart banged against her own chest, the fuse of her temper growing shorter and shorter. She stared up at him—she never thought that would ever happen, not with her and Wirt—and concentrated on giving her meanest and angriest face imaginable. Wirt smirked and lowered his head down to hers. “Yeah, I didn’t like it either.”

Beatrice scowled even more, to the point where the space between her brows hurt and her pressed lips numbed. Before she realized it, however, an arm snaked itself around her waist, and a hand rested against her cheek. Wirt dipped down to kiss her, his hands gently pulling her into him. In a fleeting moment of stubbornness, Beatrice remained stagnant—but the swirling inside of her gave in, and she threw her hands around his neck to deepen their kiss. She chastised herself when her heels lifted involuntarily so she could reach him better.

“You know, I’ll always be your pushover,” Wirt said once they broke apart. “My height won’t change anything. I’m still a beanpole.” He waved his hands up and down, drawing attention to his gawky and lithe body.

“I know,” she sighed. “There are plenty of other things about you I can make fun of.” She cast her eyes to the floor. “And, I guess…I like _some_ things about your new height.”

“Oh?” Wirt waggled his eyebrows to suggest his titillated curiosity, but Beatrice knew him too well— apprehension hid in his expression and his voice.

She nodded eagerly. “Yes. I like how this means you get to be the big spoon more often.”

Wirt looked offended. “Why must the taller person be the big spoon? There’s nothing saying the shorter person _can’t_ be the big spoon.”

“And I like how you have to lean down to kiss me,” Beatrice continued. She allowed herself to stand on her tiptoes again so she could kiss him on the cheek. “I don’t have to do it anymore.”

“Anything else?”

“I like how it feels when I hug you.” She embraced him to exhibit what she meant, the wall of his chest warm and solid against her cheek.

“O-okay,” he stammered, his arms falling around her. “I l-like that, t-too.”

“And I like how you’ve lost all that baby fat in your face.”

“Hey, I didn’t have—”

She looked up to him and poked the tip of his nose, a giggle fleeing her mouth. “Yes you did. You looked like an overgrown twelve-year-old. Now you look like a dignified young man, whose voice matches his appearance.”

“Thank…you?” Wirt’s face read puzzlement, his lips pursed and nose wrinkled.  “I can’t tell if you’re insulting me or complimenting me.”

Beatrice grinned at him. “Just…making sure we know who is winning this power play.” Wirt rolled his eyes before kissing her again. She accepted the gesture by tilting her head back and not standing on her toes, but an idea sprung into her mind before his lips parted. “Hey, Wirt?” she asked exasperatedly when she pulled away from him.

“Mhmm?”

“You know what I’d _really_ like?”

In response, Wirt skewed his head lightly to the side and stared at her through the corner of his eyes, but his mouth remained closed.

“If you could lift me. I’d like that _a lot_.”

Beatrice swung her arms around his neck for a second time, and Wirt bent his knees so he could wrap an arm around the crook of her knees. She hopped a little and clung to his neck when Wirt firmly grabbed a hold of her. For a blissful two seconds, he held her above the ground—until Beatrice felt his arms shake, and the arm supporting her knees dropped. Beatrice tumbled to her feet, nearly twisting her ankle from the landing. Wirt’s hands steadied her. “I-I’m sorry!” Wirt cried. “I guess height and strength aren’t directly correlated.”

“I guess I can’t have _everything_ ,” Beatrice exhaled. “It was nice while it lasted.”

Wirt rustled his hand on the top of her head, her hair mussed and untidied. “Do you like that?”

Sourness creeped over the giddiness she felt from moments before, accompanied by a pout. “No. I don’t like _that_.”

“Neither did I,” Wirt smirked, to which Beatrice shook her head in disapproval, her scowl deepening. He kissed her forehead—another thing she liked, no matter how tall he was.


End file.
